


Losses Restored

by Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Retirement!lock, Sherlock Holmes's Retirement, What if fic, never met before AU, oblivious flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:31:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5443415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/pseuds/Amalia%20Kensington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is a man happily retired with all he could want in his life: a cottage, bees, a dog, and even the occasional interesting case. That is, of course, until his new neighbor turns out to be a woman whose career he'd always admired from afar: Molly Hooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miabicicletta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miabicicletta/gifts), [Emcee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/gifts), [PetraTodd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetraTodd/gifts), [sempaiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sempaiko/gifts).



> This AU is where Sherlock and Molly have never met before, and takes place in Sussex, after Sherlock's early retirement.  
> The story will be a series of short scenes that glimpse into this life.  
> DISCLAIMER: This was not made with any intent other than for entertainment purposes.

_When to the sessions of sweet silent thought_

_I summon up remembrance of things past,_

_I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,_

_And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:_

_Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,_

_For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,_

_And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,_

_And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight;_

_Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,_

_And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er_

_The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,_

_Which I new pay as if not paid before._

_But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,_

_All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end._

 

**Sonnets XXX: When to the sessions of sweet silent thought by William Shakespeare**

* * *

 

Sherlock was frowning at the coffee selection when he spotted her coming into the shop.

He knew who she was, of course.

Doctor Molly Hooper, Consultant in Histopathology at St James’ University Hospital for nearly twenty years. Had spent the last seven in a teaching position, all the while producing in depth research papers and articles before deciding to retire to the only other cottage on the lane he lived on.

Sherlock would never admit to anyone that he had been rather looking forward to finally meeting her. At last, someone in this dreary town that wouldn’t bore him to death. Even he realized that he could only spend so much time talking to his bees.

The time had arrived to actually make introductions, however, and for the first time in a long time, he’d felt himself hesitate. Just how did one begin a conversation with someone that one simply wanted to get acquainted with? For years, he’d always approached new people with a goal and purpose, seeking some bit of information that needed to be gathered and processed quickly, usually while he was working, and as a result his relationships had just...picked up. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d simply decided to initiate a potential friendship simply for the sake of doing so. It was possible--he realized with a frown--that he’d, in fact, never done so.

He’d never admit that it mildly terrified him.

Sherlock had ducked an aisle over from where he had spotted her, loitering in front of the jars of jam and preserves as he listened as she walked towards the till, making polite conversation with Jackie (whom had stared at him as if he’d gone daft) before exiting the shop and going on her merry way.

He’d successfully managed to delay meeting her another day, and as he walked out of the shop empty handed, he couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved.

 ****  


_**TBC...** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (originally posted [here](http://artbylexie.tumblr.com/post/126209755232/losses-restored-part-1-sherlock-was-frowning-at))


	2. II

He heaved a dramatic sigh and tossed aside his gloves as the bell rung once more. What on earth had possessed him to agree to that ridiculous pull string bell in the first place? He glared at Toby, who sat on his large pillow, not remotely bothered by the possibility of an intruder. “You’re not earning your keep,” he growled at the bloodhound.

“Be clear, be concise,” Sherlock bellowed as he stomped towards the door, wrenching it open. “And for GODSAKE don’t be--” he sputtered to nearly a stop as he took in the person at his doorstep. “Boring.”

Molly Hooper was at his doorstep, holding a covered plate of something and biting her lower lip.

“Oh, hello! I’m Molly Hooper, your new neighbor. I just wanted to introduce myself. And bring a plate of biscuits, though I’m afraid they’re not terribly good, so maybe in retrospect that wouldn’t be the best first impression.” She laughed a little self deprecatingly, before reaching into her pocket to produce a slip of paper, laying it folded on top of the covered plate she held. “So, in an effort to be concise, I just wanted to give you my information, phone number and all that, in case there’s some reason you ever need to get a hold of me or something. Just, you can reach me there. Or just...yell, I suppose.”

_60\. Divorced for at least ten years. No children. Cat owner. Baker. Pathologist._ All things that he knew about her without ever laying eyes on her.

She kept smiling at him, wrapped up in a spotted scarf, barely-there laugh lines crinkling around her eyes in a charming way. Years had been kind to her. “I’m sorry, but it’s likely I really was a bit boring, I’m afraid.”

“No, you weren’t,” he found himself saying right before closing the door firmly in her face.

Sherlock stared at his wooden front door, one hand still on the handle as he listened to her give a sputter of confusion before walking back up the path towards the lane. He let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, noting that at some point he’d taken what she’d brought to offer, the covered plate in his other hand, the neatly folded invitation into her life lying on top.

Toby approached him, sniffed at the plate and barked in approval.

 

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (originally posted [here](http://artbylexie.tumblr.com/post/126630796412/losses-restored-part-2-part-1-he))


	3. III

It took him three days since she’d come over to work himself up to actually trying to talk to her. It was ridiculous, he reasoned. It was simple enough: go over there, apologize for being rude, and strike up a conversation. Surely all those years with John and Mary had not been in vain.

He tied his scarf around his neck, and Toby was up and next to him, knowing that an outing was in store as he pawed the door. “Stop that, old man, we mustn't look overly eager,” he chided the dog, palming the leash but not attaching it before opening the door and strolling down the path towards the lane.

Toby paid him no mind, taking off immediately and trotting up the lane, a whole new world of smells to investigate with the bushes and flowers that were beginning to come into bloom after a long winter. Toby’s enthusiasm for something new was not unlike Sherlock’s himself, proving to be a valuable companion to the detective since Toby never seemed to lack the energy and drive to investigate and explore.

And currently, the bloodhound seemed to have locked on the very person that Sherlock had been thinking about, baying as they reached the bend in the lane where her house was. She was out in her garden, startled for a moment at the 160 pounds of dog that was bounding towards her. Sherlock broke into a run, reaching out just at the last moment for the dog’s collar, quickly hooking the leash to pull him back from jumping up on the petite woman and no doubt knocking her to the ground.

“Toby, that’s enough,” he said as sternly as possible, hoping that for once the dog would listen to him. Luck seemed to be on his side today, as Toby let himself be held back by his master, only briefly pitching forward to Molly’s feet to confirm he’d indeed found what he’d been looking for.

“I am terribly sorry, I believe he seemed to catch on to your scent,” Sherlock explained.

“Oh, that’s alright,” she replied with a small laugh, reaching out a hand to Toby who was eager to be petted. “What’s his name?”

“Toby.”

Molly stared at him and began to laugh. “I had a cat named Toby when I was first starting my residency.”

Sherlock smirked at that. “Well, that’s a coincidence. What’s your cat’s name now?”

“Marie,” Molly replied. “She’s a bit of a nutter to be honest, but at least it doesn’t feel like I’m the only one!” She knelt down to Toby’s level, immediately reaching to scratch behind his ears, earning herself a new friend.

Sherlock knelt also, keeping a steadying hand on the bloodhound’s back. “Sherlock Holmes,” he extended his hand out to her, doing his best to smile pleasantly.

She placed her small hand in his, her grip strong. “Yes, I know. Molly Hooper.”

“Yes, I know,” he parrots.

“Do you?”

“You did come over to introduce yourself.”

She laughed. “Right. I did do that.” There’s a slight blush to her cheek that made her look youthful.

“Even if you hadn’t, it’s more than obvious,” Sherlock went on. “A quick internet search for a recently retired professor of histopathology from Leeds yields a small amount of results.”

Her smile faltered a bit then, just enough for him to see it. In a flash, whatever bothered her is gone, but Sherlock filed it away for later.

“Well, I knew you were a detective, but I believe the stories of your powers have been greatly understated,” she said, a cheeky smile pulling at her mouth.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in response, wondering at the woman before him.

Her blush grows under his scrutiny.

_Oh._

Well, that was rather fetching.

“I actually own all five of the books,” she confesses. “One of my students even got one of them signed for me.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Oh good lord.”

His annoyance seems to only amuse her. “I thought they were fantastic. I’m sad there were only that many.” Her face sobers a bit and she continues to pet Toby.  “I actually knew John a little bit. We’d exchanged a couple of emails every once in a while.” She meets Sherlock’s eyes again. “I’m so sorry he’s gone. He’s greatly missed, I’m sure.”

An unexpected lump has formed in his throat. He forces it back before replying. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

Molly stood up and dusted off her hands on her pants, a shy smile crossing her features.

This was his cue to leave, that much he knew, to make his excuses and take Toby and be on their merry way. He couldn’t get his mouth to cooperate.

After an awkward moment, she took the lead. “Well, it was very lovely to properly meet you, Mister Holmes.” She extended her hand for him to take.

He didn’t hesitate to take it in his own.

“It’s nice to meet you, Molly Hooper.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, this is the last of my drawings for this at present. Part of the reason I waited so long to post this is because I didn't have drawings yet, and I desperately wanted there to be. But I've hung on long enough. Maybe later there will be more, but for now, that's it.


	4. IV

“It’s not how I remember it. John did have a way of exaggerating.”

Molly nearly jumped out of her skin as she rounded the corner towards her home from the shops. Sherlock Holmes was casually leaning against a lamp post, a dark spot among the pastels of the spring florals lining the lane.

Toby excitedly leapt forward to greet her, and she obligingly petted the top of his head for a moment before she turned to face the former detective. “Not how you remember what?

“The cases,” Sherlock answered, falling into step with her as she continued on her way home, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. “John always was a bit of a drama queen, and absolutely did not focus on the right facts, adding a bit too much sentiment.”

Molly frowned for a moment before adjusting her bags and shrugging her shoulders.  “Well, it made for good reading.”

“He left out quite a lot of the more interesting cases,” Sherlock went on, wordlessly taking a bag from her hands and ignoring her grateful smile.

“Well, have you thought that maybe you could write them?” Her question is innocent, but it makes him pause, doors in his mind palace opening up a crack or two at the thought. An intriguing prospect. He’s zoned out enough to be a step behind her and he realizes that Molly was still talking. “I know that I would want to read more about your adventures,” she is saying.

Sherlock rolls his eyes again, but gives a wry smile. “John wrote adventures, and I can’t really bring myself to do the same. But, I kept meticulous notes, though perhaps there’s not enough people now that would be interested in the results of my research.”

Toby sniffed around Molly’s garden as they approached her door and she wrestled in her large purse for the keys. “I think that would be a wonderful idea,” she said, smiling brightly at him.

“Would you...like to see them?” He asked suddenly, just as she had managed to open the door. “My notes, I mean. About cases.”

 

Her smile only grew brighter.

 

“That would be lovely.”

* * *

 


	5. V

The afternoon light was fading in his spare room as they spent the second day together pouring over Sherlock’s seemingly endless case files and notes.  Toby was snoring in the one armchair in the room, keeping vigil over (ironically) notes from the Baskerville case. Sherlock had smirked when he had noticed that Mycroft’s security badge was still pressed between pages. He idly wondered if it still worked…

“Sherlock, this...” Molly’s voice pulled him away from his thoughts. “I wrote this.”

Molly was staring at him with wide surprised eyes, her lips parted slightly as she held open a folder labeled _For Trial 2013-2014_. Inside was a copy of one of her research papers.

“Yes, and two follow ups I believe,” Sherlock interrupted, going back to shuffling his notes from the age old case. “Frankly, I think it was beneath you having to address moronic resistance to your findings, but commend you for being able to refute them so eloquently. Several barristers at the Old Baley infinitely preferred me to use your words rather than my own.” They’d spent most of the afternoon reviewing old case files, some more interesting than others, though he did explain that he didn’t tend to keep much from anything below a five. Sherlock had stated that he wanted her opinion on which cases he should begin with if he were to proceed with publishing his own versions of events.  It completely by accident that she stumbled upon a case where the findings of her research helped solve the case.

Her blush was becoming, but there was also a sparkle to her eyes that caught and held his attention.

“I didn’t realize that it was that widely read,” she stumbled. “All I ever seemed to get as a response was people trying to point out the flaws in my reasoning.”

“Ah, so that Lasker Award nomination must have been scathing,” Sherlock quipped seriously, with a tone of mock sympathy.

Molly laughed outright at that, glancing away from him with a shrug of one shoulder. “I don’t think my ego ever recovered.”

“Then feel comforted that at least it helped put away this particular criminal with your research, kept several other rather nasty people off the streets and to keep one consulting detective out of overnight detention for contempt of court once or twice.”

Molly smiled up at him and something warmed in his chest. “Well, you’re welcome.” Her smile changed into something a little more...mischievous. “But I do believe, Mister Detective, that it means that now, you might owe me a favor.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her, taking a moment to consider it. “Perhaps…”

“And I think I know how to cash it in.”

“Oh?”

Molly’s grin grew wider. “Bees.”

Now both of his eyebrows shot up before lowering in confusion. “Bees?”

“Yes, Mister Holmes. I would quite like to see your bees.”

 

* * *

 

 


	6. VI

Molly hissed a bit as she peeled off the sock that she had hoped keep her safe from the stings of any member of the colony. Sadly she seemed to have been out of luck.

“It’s the bright colors, you know,” Sherlock was saying, waving around the rainbow colored sock in question before tossing it aside. Her foot was sitting lightly in his lap as he knelt before her, inspecting her quickly swelling ankle. He clicked his tongue at her. “And here you’d had me fooled that you actually knew something about bees.”

His voice was teasing, but he wondered briefly if maybe it wasn’t appropriate at the moment as it seemed that Molly was in a fair amount of pain.

Molly laughed lightly before wincing as he got too close to the tender skin where the sting occurred. “I thought I had been doing so well.”

The truth was that she _had_ impressed him, considerably. Molly had more than just cursory knowledge of apiculture, enough to ask the right questions that had basically added up to a very enjoyable afternoon. Well, up until she felt the sting on her ankle which brought them quickly inside.

“Well, then, Doctor Hooper, I would expect that as a scientist, you should be seeking to increase your knowledge by further study,” he found himself saying. “How convenient that you should have both a research laboratory and a subject matter expert practically at your doorstep.”  
  


He glanced up at her face then, surprised at how pleasant the laugh-lines around Molly’s eyes were to see. “I think you might be right. I can’t let my reputation as a scientist be tarnished.”

He felt himself smile back.

This friendship thing looked like it would work out after all.

 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapters, I know, but I'm hoping you're liking them!


	7. VII

“Toby, go and fetch Molly.”

The dog leapt to attention in excitement, practically pawing at the door as his master opened it, taking off into the village to find their friend.

Sherlock tapped away on his laptop--he was used to that, the newest word processors were still unreliable and he always felt that he needed to correct the things far too often. He wistfully recalls his initial disdain of John’s romantic presentations of cases, how many rows they’d had about John’s embellishments and his preference for adjectives over facts. It was an homage, perhaps, that he himself was adding so many now.

The clatter as his door opened and Toby’s proud bay of success of his mission pulls Sherlock’s attention away.

“Thank you for the summons, Toby,” Molly murmured to the hound and he guesses she’s probably petting him just behind the ears if the pattern of the dog’s panting was any indication.

“You wanted to see me?” she addressed Sherlock directly now, her voice rising just a little bit.

“Yes!” he whirled around to face her, and for a moment, he faltered. She’s looking at him expectantly, and he quickly deduced that she must have put aside a task to be here, a glance at her hands and clothing told him that she was likely giving her kitchen a good cleaning.  

“Molly,” he said, pulling back from further deductions. “Would you like to--” He paused, not entirely sure how to phrase what he wanted to ask her. It’s a strange and new feeling, as he usually know what to say.

“Have dinner?” she prompted just as he decided to say, “Solve crimes?”

They frowned at each other for a moment in confusion before what he said fully registers with Molly.

“Solve crimes?” she asked, and the note of excitement that he can detect in her voice reassures him that he’s made the right choice.

“Of course. I got a call from an old friend asking for a consult in London,” he explained. “And, I shall need a pathologist.”

  
Molly’s hands grasped for a moment, as if aching to hold a scalpel again and Sherlock repressed a smirk. “Yes, please, lead the way.”

 

* * *

 


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @writingwife83 for her help on this one and the previous chapter!

London had changed, that much was certain, the bones of the city he knew and loved shifting and moving, supporting new weights, and somehow managing to squeeze in more idiocy than he could stomach for any length of time, making him feel glad for the long grass and buzzing of his hives back home.

“Black, two sugars.”

Molly’s voice brought him back to Barts rooftop, his eyes moved away from the London landscape to see her stood beside him, holding out a paper cup and the smell of coffee reached him.

He blinked in surprise to see her, not expecting her to even be speaking to him after what had happened earlier in the morgue. “How did you know I was here?” he asked, taking the offered cup.

“Your friend that met us that the door, the retired copper. He told me where to find you. I can’t remember his name,” Molly frowned, trying to recall. “Gary? Gabe?”

“Greg,” Sherlock supplied, amusement pulling at him much against his will. John would have been proud.

Molly smiled carefully before she bit her bottom lip a bit and pulled at her own fingers in a move that he knew was a nervous one. “What you did back there…”

He winced but hid it by pretending the coffee was the problem. “Yes, a bit...not good, as John would say.”

“Yeah, a bit,” she agreed quietly, a small frown pulling at her mouth.

Sherlock felt his hackles rise again. “Well, it would seem that Scotland Yard’s finest have regressed since I left London,” he snapped, glaring out over the landscape of the steel monstrosities towering over the city from across the Thames.

Molly might have been shrugging, but he couldn’t look back at her just yet. Her voice was quietly neutral. “He’s young, he’ll learn, that’s all. He knew he was out of his depth at least when he asked for help.”

“They’re always out of their depth, that at least hasn’t changed,” he replied. “Lestrade at least had learned what needed to be done.”

She hummed noncommittally and let him stew a bit longer in his annoyance.

“It was brilliant, though. How you did that,” she said in a quiet voice, full of enough wonder that it made his pride puff up and take notice. “Just...amazing.”

 

He chuckled a bit in response, forgetting what it felt like to have someone to see his still scathing deductions and still seek out his company. “That’s not what people usually say.”

“Probably because they’re usually idiots,” she dead panned.

Sherlock laughed out loud of that, his annoyance at the outcome of the day disappearing almost completely. “Yes, yes they are.”

She laughed a bit along with him, looking out around the roof of the pathology building.  “This is a nice hospital, this. I’d come and consulted here a few times. I quite like the museum’s specimens.”

“The curators have been exceptional for years,” he agreed.

“I believe that one or two were part of one of your cases,” Molly said, a raised eyebrow indicating that there wasn’t a doubt in her mind about it at all. He was sure that she even knew exactly which ones they were and the case related to them.

“A few, yes,” he agreed. An idea sprung to mind. “They don’t have the most interesting, though. I keep those specimens back at the flat.”

“Oh?”

“Would you like to see them?”

Sherlock was pleased that he still managed to have no trouble at all hailing a cab. It was good to see that at least something remained the same. He closed the door once Molly had gotten settled and gave the cabbie the address. “221B Baker St.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a teeny shout out to Carla Valentine (@chickandthedead), the AMAZING curator of Barts Pathology Museum. Follow her on twitter (@BartsPathology) and instagram (@remains2beseen), there's SO much to learn! (warning: not for the squeamish, as it's a lot of medical photographs!)


	9. IX

“Oh my God.”

Sherlock frowned and looked over at Mary Watson from his paper, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re in love!” she exclaimed, the grin on her face almost looked painful. “My God, Sherlock Holmes, in love! Miracles do happen!”

“What on Earth put that _absurd_ notion in your head?” Sherlock replied, holding the paper up higher and burying his nose in it.

“Well, the afghan on the armchair really isn’t your color, your kitchen is suddenly well stocked,” Mary lists out her deductions on her fingers. “And the reason I know that it’s not because you’ve hired a housekeeper is that you’re squirming like a bloody teenager and it’s fantastic!” She tossed aside her cross-word and leaned towards him.  “Right, go on, who is it then?”

“I’m not talking about this with you.” Sherlock replies, doing his best to continue to hide behind the newsprint.

“Oh no you don’t.” Mary pushed the paper away from him, causing him to glare at her over the top of his reading glasses. “You can tell me, you know,” she went on.  “We’ve known each other for ages now, and I’ve rarely seen you so happy.”

“You make me sound like I’ve led a miserable life until now.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. You’ve been contented and yes, there have been many many moments of happiness, but this is different. You look like you _are_ happy, Sherlock, and I didn’t know that was missing from your life until I see that you have it now. So go on, tell me.”

Sherlock sighs dramatically, muttering under his breath about what possessed him to invite her over for the weekend, but in reality hedging around the emotional issue that Mary’s brought up. In his younger years, he would have argued with her until she got fed up. Glancing over at his friend, he knew that it was unlikely that she would do so in this case.

“Her name is Molly, and she’s…” Sherlock pauses to find a way to describe the woman he’s come to care for. His features soften. “Completely extraordinary.”

Mary hadn’t brought anything to his attention that he hadn’t already seen. It was only a month ago that Sherlock himself had taken notice of the very things around his home that Mary had pointed out. In a fit of what he can now admit was cowardice, he’d gathered up all the items that were distinctly Molly and had gone as far as putting them in a box, intent on returning them to their rightful owner. He’d stared at the box in his hands for a long moment before looking around his home, void of traces of Molly. It had made his heart constrict almost painfully to see before he went about putting every item back where it belonged. Molly belonged in his home, even if her title within it was still undefined.

“She would have to be, I imagine,” Mary says with a warm smile, leaning forward to squeeze his arm. Her smile goes back to being teasing. “So is she coming over for dinner tonight? I really want to meet the woman to achieved the impossible and shake her hand.”

Sherlock glares at her and stands from his chair. “You will do no such thing.”

Mary narrows her eyes at him, scrutinizing him as he pours himself out more tea. “She doesn’t know, does she? You haven’t told her, have you?”

“I don’t really see the need for it.”

“Oh, grow up, Sherlock!” Mary exclaims in exasperation.  “Don’t you finally get it now? You found someone that you love, why are you stalling even for a moment to be with her?”

“This isn’t some sort of staged romantic comedy, Mary. We’re not going to suddenly fall into each other’s arms upon declarations and--” he cuts himself off, pausing to heave a small sigh. “Molly and I are fine as we are, and no need to muck that up.”

“You’re fibbing, Sherlock,” Mary replies. “You’re not fine as you are, and you know it. You can have what you want as long as you’re a bit brave and reach out and ask for it.”

“Molly sees me as a fellow scientist, possibly a friend, nothing more, I’m sure. There’s no need to impose my feelings on her.”

A friend. That was all, surely. A friend that spent every waking moment with her, that shared his experiments with her, that let her fall asleep on him while on the couch watching telly, that would hide out in her bedroom late into the night.. A friend that would make her blush and stutter and tease.

Just a friend.

Mary was glaring at him now. “For being a scientist you really are rubbish at testing out your theories, you know that? How do you know what she feels unless you ask her, unless you give her all the facts for her to come to her own decisions?”

“We’re done talking about this,” Sherlock says, picking the paper once again.

Mary grabs it out of his hands. “Go and tell her, so help me God, I will thump you for being such a stubborn arse.”

“Mary,” his voice holds a warning that he vainly hopes will work this one time.

“There’s so little time, Sherlock,” she says then, quietly, and all his protests fall away at the sadness in her voice. “One day, the person you love can be gone, and no one asks your permission before it happens.”

She quickly wipes away a tear that’s fallen to her cheek, and he lays a hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. She grabs his hand and meets his eyes. “Don’t waste any more of it. Promise me.”

A beat of silence. He could never deny her anything. “Promise.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We get to see Mary!!!


	10. X

“Sherlock!”

He stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn around to face her, doing his best to keep his breathing even. It was all a mess, taking up entirely too much space in his mind palace, he didn’t have time for all this _sentiment_ and the way that it insisted in wrapping itself around and in between the world of pure logic he’d spent most of his life building.

Why had he listened to Mary, why had he started this whole mess in the first place? He had been fine, what on earth had possessed him to seek out someone else to bring into his life, out of some distorted sense of admiration? But, as ever, his driving need to stave off the _boredom_ had led him down a dangerous path, not being satisfied with simple friendship, oh no, he’d decided that for the first time in over sixty years he’d give into his curiosity about romantic entanglements and thus managed to ruin the first true friendship he’d cultivated all on his own since John. Stupid, stupid, absolutely moronic--

“Sherlock!”

His eyes snapped open (when had he closed them?) as he felt Molly’s hands on his face. She was panting herself a bit, having to jog a bit to catch up with his long steps when he ran away from her.

“Sherlock, did you really mean it when you said...are you?” she frowned, not managing to get the words out.

Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh and wrapped his hands around her wrists to take her hands away from his face. “Doctor Hooper, I--”

He didn’t get a chance to finish as suddenly, Molly had pressed her lips to his, successfully silencing both his mouth and --shockingly enough-- his ever running brain.

It was quick, almost chaste, but it tingled down to his toes. Molly was staring at him with wide eyes, obviously not quite believing what she’d done. Her gaze flickered to his lips for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

“Sherlock, please. Please...stay.”

Sherlock stared back her, feeling her pulse race beneath his fingertips. He was too old for this, too set in his ways, too much for sentiment.

Wisps of her dark hair had fallen into her eyes, a touch of silver catching the light, and she looked flushed.

  
“Sod this,” he mumbled, dropping her hands to cradle her face, bringing their lips together again, soft and lingering.

 

* * *

 


	11. XI

“You add too much butter.”

The rumbling voice behind her made her jump a bit.

“What? To the batter?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind,  relaxing into his embrace.

“Mmm,” he hummed in response, lightly pressing their lips together. It was still all so new and unexpected: Molly felt about thirty years younger, and for the first time in a long time well and properly cared for.

“Contrary to popular belief,” Sherlock went on, nuzzling her cheek and placing light kisses on the skin on her face he encountered, “Adding more butter does not in fact make them taste better.”

Molly pulled away from him, slightly indignant. “You just got here, how do you even know how much butter I added to the batter?”

He smiled at her smugly. “Ah, but you forget my dear that you brought me a plate of your ‘signature recipe’ when you came over to introduce yourself.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “As a graduate chemist, I could tell immediately: entirely too much butter.”

Molly continued to frown at him until he gave a long sigh. “Fine, and I saw the wrappers for the two sticks you used in the bin.”

“Molly, would you ever get married again?”

She shrugged. “I got divorced after ten years of trying to make it work. I think that maybe marriage isn’t for me. I used to get accused of being more married to my work than anything else.” She laughs lightly. “Maybe for a while, I kind of was.”

He swiped a several chocolate chips from her pre-measured cup as he leaned against the counter, trying to appear casual.

She slapped his hand away when he reached for more. “Why do you ask?”

He avoided her gaze and shrugged a shoulder. “Data.”

“Is this about a case?” The tone of her voice gave it away: she knew what he was doing.

Carefully, he cleared his throat. “Experiment.”

She put down the bowl on the counter and turned to face him. “Oh? And what have you worked out so far?”

“I hypothesize that couples that engage in marriage, if indeed committed to making the marriage work, would have more benefit than those who are not married.”

“Right. Okay,” she nodded her head a bit. “Observations?”

“Marriage, as a legal construct more than a social value, could actually be quite beneficial. Partners that have engaged in such an arrangement have legal rights to both person and property of the other in time of crisis. Additionally, financially, the government continues to favor couples that are legally bound with some tax relief, and couples often pool their financial wealth and/or burdens. Conclusion: should both parties remain committed, there is success.”

She let out a breathy laugh as she shook her head a bit. “I would have to challenge your data collection, Mister Holmes. I believe that it’s biased and potentially incomplete.”

“Please, enlighten me, Doctor Hooper.”

“I don’t believe that you have considered the number of marriages that despite all efforts on the part of both parties, still fail. The data is flawed nearly by definition: you’d be hard pressed to find a marriage arrangement that didn’t have feelings, positive or negative attached to them. Feelings that have everything to do with decisions made, financial or otherwise that can lead to a disaster. I’m sure that if you opened that antique of a newspaper, you’d find something in there about how marriage led to financial ruin.”

“I see.”

She gave him a hard stare which he held, keeping his face as indifferent as he possibly could, but the look on her face told him he was failing. Finally, she turned back to scooping out bits of batter and plopping them onto a baking sheet.

Once she’d popped the tray in the oven and set the timer, she stood in front of him, wrapping her arms around his waist, leaning against him an easy manner.  

“Sherlock, if you’re asking if I want to marry you, specifically, then the answer, I’ll have you know, is yes. And it would be for purely sentimental reasons.” Her mouth quirked up in a teasing smile. “Though the financial ones cannot be ignored.”

“You would marry me for my money?”

“No, I believe that you would marry me so you wouldn’t have to deal with your money. But mostly because in the last year, I have seen that just how being with you would be, and I’ve never been more content and happy in sharing my life with anyone. And it’s because I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life.”

“Very impressive deductions, my dear doctor. And could you make another one?”

“What more is there to deduce?”

“You can always miss something: the biggest something in all this.”

 

“Oh?”

“I am quite madly in love with you too.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite idiots are in love!!! <3


	12. XII

“Sherlock?”

“Mm?” His voice hums against the skin of her collarbone, right where he’s nestled his face against her neck.

“Do you ever think about what would have happened if we’d met when we were younger?” she asks quietly, her fingers twisting lazily in his hair.

“Irrelevant,” he replies, “Besides, I told you before, we did meet years ago.”

Molly tugs a bit at his hair, enough to for him to know that she was not pleased. “We did not, you were undercover and therefore were in disguise and I saw you for maybe ten seconds! And besides, I don’t even remember so for all I know, you’re making it up. Doesn’t count at all.”

He chuckles a bit, nuzzling under her chin with his nose before craning his neck up to kiss her properly. “Not making it up,” he mumbles as he kisses his way around her face. “I found you intriguing the moment I knew who you were. I’m sorry it took you so long to catch up.”

He swallows the indignant comment she’s about to make when he covers her mouth with his and after a moment, she gives in, enjoying the way that their mouths move together. Sherlock pulls away, placing a final kiss on her chin before settling back to his previous position against her and she sighs contentedly.

She’s almost drifted off to sleep when he speaks again.

“I would have been awful to you.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, but she hears something akin to wistfulness in it. “I wouldn’t have known what to do with the feelings you would have brought up in me and it wouldn’t have gone well.”

She considers his words for a moment. “Well, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad. I think I would have seen you for who you really were.”

His grip tightens around her, “There was a time, Molly, that I would have done everything in my power to push you away anyway.”

She runs her fingers through his hair again, moving her head to place a kiss on his forehead. “I can be stubborn.”

He snorts at this. “Yes, I’m aware.” He shifts them then, making them nose to nose as he takes her face between his hands, this thumbs caressing over her cheekbones as his blue eyes consider her. His lips twitch up in a smirk. “You would have worn me down, wouldn’t you?”

Molly smiles lightly at him. “I would have been your friend, Sherlock. And just been there for you in any way that I could, happy to just have you in my life.”

He kisses her, slowly and deeply, years of whatifs and wouldhavebeens dying down to their current reality.

Molly breathes deeply as she settles into him, settling her head against his chest. “So, you’re right: it is irrelevant.”

He makes an inquisitive noise in response.

“Because we always would have ended up right here, wouldn’t we?” she says.

His arms tighten around her once more, and she more feels than hears his answer.

“Yes.”

* * *

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! I've had this in my head for SOOOO long, and I really wanted to share it.  
> There's so so much more that I have in my head for this AU, so please ASK ME ABOUT THIS AU. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and let me know if you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my ladies for listening to my talk their ears off about this silly AU for almost a year now. 
> 
> I plan to update this pretty fast, stay tuned! Your reviews are much appreciated.


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